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I sometimes write for a local amateur dramatic company. My aim is to write for the available cast, rather than script a play and for them, then, to find people to play the parts. This isn’t as easy as I had hoped but it seems to work sometimes so I probably write something for them once a year. The process is simple, however. The group arranges a meeting, usually in a room in a pub so everyone can get drunk, and we discuss what sort of show they want to put on. It it’s musical I may be asked to write some of the links between songs but if it’s a drama I’ll do the entire show. It might be a crime or romance; it all depends on their mood, their timing and their intended audience. And so it was that on a gloomy Friday night in December I came to be in the upstairs rom of the Coaching Inn. The group is a mixed bag of people, all ages and a variety of backgrounds and, of course, abilities. There were some new faces among the assembly and when I arrived, a little late as usual and straight from work, I sat slightly behind the group who were all facing their director, Jimmy Lewis. Lewis welcomed me and a few heads turned to smile hellos at me. I listened to the conversation. Lewis is a control freak and doesn’t allow much debate since his view is that direction is just that. Tell them what they are going to do, who is going to do what, and how it will be done. He and I had already done a brief synopsis of the next play, a Victorian Melodrama in which a ne’er-do-well son of the landed gentry has his evil way with a young housemaid, promises to marry her when she becomes pregnant, then, to avoid the loss of his inheritance, murders her. The principal parts were all part-defined but naturally we wanted to see who was available and willing before this was set in stone. There are stalwarts of the group who can be relied upon but the peripherals and occasionals are less predictable. The evening went pretty much as normal; slightly shambolic to start and degenerating from there into a sort of humorous chaos. I managed to get some sensible notes made. The leading lady, the sister of the evil son, was to be played by a new face. I say face but it was not until the end of the meeting that I saw anything but the back of her head and a mane of wonderfully luxuriant black hair. I gathered her name was Tilda something but that was all I knew. Lewis declared the meeting at an end and suggested we revert to the bar to freshen our glasses. I was ready for this and slipped out of the room and down to the bar, chatting to a few old friends. We ordered drinks – a large gin and tonic for me, and nattered for a while. Jimmy came over to me. ‘I’d like you to meet Tilda. She’s got some interesting ideas about her part and you might like to discuss them with her. I excused myself from my group and followed him to a table at the far corner of the bar. That was the first time I saw Tilda’s face and I stopped almost dead in my tracks. I’d better explain. She was sitting but it was clear she was tall, taller than my initial impression of her from the rear view upstairs. Our eyes were not exactly level but it was close. Her hair, wonderful from the rear was magnificent from the front. It wasn’t curly or wavy but nor was it straight. It had a certain wildness about it as it cascaded like dark water over her shoulders. Her eyes were dark too, but large and round with a look that I can only describe as humorous. Perhaps this was because when you first see a face you take it all in as a whole then focus on the constituent parts and her mouth, wide and full-lipped had a similar half smile which seemed permanent. It was a captivating face, the sort that stops the breath in man or woman. I recovered myself and sat facing her and slightly to one side so the light shone through that curtain of hair and made it sparkle where it feathered around her upturned nose. Her teeth were too large but somehow it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter at all. She had long, delicate fingers which rested on the table and were resolutely still. There was a stillness about her. She was wearing a dark coat which was open to reveal a white cotton blouse which did not reveal anything to my now searching eye. You may have gathered that I was impressed. Lewis introduced us and we shook hands and there was no lingering to that contact which is so often described. She reached out, smiling, took my hand firmly, shook it and her hand returned to join its pair on the table, still and restful. I fumbled to get my notebook and pen from my bag while she and Jimmy talked and then stood, threw off my coat and sat again, glasses in place and ready for business. ‘Sue here writes. She writes specifically for us and the chosen cast as I told you. All she needs from us is some ideas and the next thing you know a work of bloody art is ready for us.’ I smiled at him and told him he didn’t need to flatter me to get me to do it; I enjoyed it. ‘Tilda has just joined us. She’s dome some acting at University and wants to get involved. I smiled at Tilda. ‘Jimmy says you have a few ideas?’ Tilda did a strange sort of thing with her mouth that suggested modesty and began slowly to explain some of her thoughts for her part. When I am concentrating on something I tend to be quite focused but something about her half smile kept distracting me. We talked at length and I made copious notes. Suddenly she tapped the back of my hand with her finger.’ ‘Sue, your glass is empty. Can I get you another?’ I hadn’t seen her standing until then. I had guessed she was tall but not just how tall. I’m not talking giantess here but she seemed to rise up out of her chair and keep rising. She took my glass and strolled across the bar. I followed her with my eyes and watched as her body moved, her legs in tight black leather trousers. I also noticed how heads turned to watch her. I looked away when she turned back to glance at me as she waited for our drinks and then she returned, placed the glasses on the table and sinuously coiled herself back into her seat. We continued talking and discussing her part until the pub closed. I said I lived a short walk away and she said that she did too and it turned out to be in the same direction. In fact, she lived one street away from me and explained she had recently moved into the town following the collapse of her previous relationship. It was a small detour for me to walk past her place to get to mine. We stopped outside her steps and she turned to me. ‘Fancy some coffee?’ Now, I ought at this point to say that I am utterly hopeless at recognising another person’s sexuality unless he or she wears it like a badge. I felt very attracted to Tilda but had absolutely no idea if she felt anything like that for me. Her hand rested on my shoulder, a curiously intimate action especially somehow because of her height. I nodded dumbly and she led the way up the steps to her front door. Her house was similar to my own except mine was merely a part of one whereas hers was the whole thing, Georgian, high ceilings and chandeliers. She led me through to the kitchen removing her coat as she walked past a row of hooks and inviting me to do the same. She stopped and turned to me, I looked up into her eyes. ‘We could have something stronger than coffee if you’d prefer?’ ‘Well, it is Friday.’ She smiled and led me back down the hallway to her sitting room. She lit a fire that was already layed in the hearth and went to a cabinet, suggesting I sit which I did, smoothing my long, dark blue skirt under my arse. She made a sort of soft groan. ‘I always love to see a woman smooth her skirt like that,’ she said as she poured and I realised she must have seen in a mirror because her back was to me. For the first time I got to admire her body. It wasn’t just tall, it was svel
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te and lithe. Her trousers emphasised the shape of her arse and legs – her shoes were ankle boots with low, slender heels. She had not asked me what I wanted but brought me a brandy. She sat beside me and her arm slid along the back of the sofa behind me, not touching me but bringing her quite close. ‘You’re shy, aren’t you?’ I nodded. ‘Don’t be.’ She took my glass from me and placed it on the table beside her then bent in to kiss my lips. It was a real kiss, firm and exploring. She lingered, our mouths close and I felt rather than instructed my own mouth to open to her and she entered me, her tongue moving deep into my mouth. It was, without doubt, the best first kiss I ever had. The arm behind me moved to my shoulders and she pulled me into an embrace, her mouth never leaving mine. I responded for shy though I may be I know a kiss when I get one and I know how to participate. She suddenly disengaged, leant back and reached for my brandy. ‘I don’t know about you but after that kiss I need a drink.’ Her smile was broader now. ‘How did you know?’ I wondered if someone had told her because my sexuality is no secret among the group. She shrugged, ‘I could smell it.’ We talked more about her part in the play I was to write and about the other roles around her. She was light, funny, entertaining and clearly intelligent. ‘I kissed you because I wanted to and I wanted to know if you wanted to. You did, didn’t you.’ ‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘Well, it certainly felt like it. Are you the sort of girl who says “never on a first meeting,’ or are you like me?’ Now the truth is that one night stands have never appealed to me and I told her so. ‘Who said anything about a one night stand? I know we’ve just met and we barely know each other but I feel chemistry, don’t you?’ God, did I feel it? ‘I’d like to see you again but right now I want to fuck you.’ Normally I’d have been reluctant but I wanted her, seriously wanted her and to show her I did I took her glass from her hand and placed it on the table beside her. She smiled. Our second kiss was hungrier, deeper and longer. Her hands roamed over my arms, my back, my blouse and mine followed her every move. Her tits were firm and small like my own and like me she wore no bra. Her nipples were hard under the cotton and I squeezed them gently as our tongues explored each other’s mouths. I found myself half lying on the sofa with her leaning over me, looking down into my eyes. She kept looking at me as she opened my blouse, her mouth open slightly, her breathing a little heavier. She spread my blouse and lent down to kiss my left nipple ever so gently, then the right. She suckled softly at them and I stroked that gorgeous mane of hair. She licked up my neck, my chin and over my lips and nose as if she were tasting me. Her hand came up to hold my breast and palm my aching nipple. ‘Bed,’ she said and rose from above me, pulled me up by my hand and led me upstairs with some haste. I stopped at her bedroom door and she turned, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. ‘Changed your mind? That’s ok if you have.’ ‘I was just wondering how to get those trousers off you.’ ‘You’ll learn.’ I moved to stand in front of her and had to look up into her dark eyes. I lifted my hands to her blouse and slowly, as slowly as I could, unbuttoned it, spreading the cotton as I went. I did not have to lean far to get my mouth to her nipples and I sucked on them, gently at first but with increasing strength as I felt her hands on me, encouraging me. I let my hands find the waist of her trousers and I unbuttoned them, still locked on her teat. I unzipped her trousers and opened them but didn’t look down so engrossed was I on her engorged nipple. Her hand cupped my chin and lifted my face. ‘It pays to get the shoes off first,’ she said, smiling. I laughed and she sat on the bed and removed one shoe while I knelt and removed the other. Her head turned slightly and she stroked my face. ‘Kneeling suits you.’ I looked up at her then and there must have been a question in my face. ‘Didn’t you know that about yourself?’ ‘Know what?’ ‘Like I said, you’ll learn.’ I eased her shoe off and she stood. I leant back a little and slowly and with a little help pulled her trousers down. Her panties, deepest red and silk if was any judge, almost came with them but she made sure they stayed in place. I lowered her trousers fully and she stepped out of them then once again lifted me by pulling my hand. I was standing in front of this beautiful, tall woman with my breasts exposed as were hers but with my skirt still in place. I wanted to move in close and feel her body against me but she put her hands on my shoulders and kept me at arm’s length. Her hands slid down from my shoulders to trace the sides of my breasts and then to scratch delicately on the underside of each. She whispered, ‘Keep your hands at your sides,’ and with that she leant down and took the hem of my skirt and slowly lifted it. She lifted it so she could see stocking tops then my own, cotton knickers. She looked up into my eyes and smiled. ‘Turn around.’ As I tuned so she held the skirt up and then it fell once more and her body was hard against me – her hands around me to cover my breasts. Her lips found my neck and she gently nibbled me there then my shoulder. She whispered, ‘take your skirt off.’ Her hands never left my breasts as I unzipped the dropped the skirt but then she turned me round and our third kiss started. It was intense, deep and invasive and it was if a dam had burst inside her. She became urgent, sliding her hand into my panties and curling her finger into my now soaking pussy and she made no attempt to stop me from enjoying the feel of her skin, caressing her as our kiss continued. We were, somehow, on the bed, she with her back on it, I lying partially on top of her, mouths still conjoined. I wasn’t shy now. I broke the kiss and slid hastily down her, lapping at her flesh, her nipples, her belly button and then those glorious silk knickers which felt already wet. I pulled them not down but aside and fell upon her sex, noticing only later that she was neatly trimmed. Tongue curled between lips, nose nuzzled wet skin and I probed with my tongue. A brief hiatus as she wriggled away then curled over me so we were both face to pussy and then it began again, my panties virtually torn from me as I lifted my face up to her lips and sucked her clit, larger than I had experienced before and very obvious between the pink of her folds. I sucked it and she moaned into my own craving entrance. Om and on she lapped at me and I at her. Then she broke free again and slid into a tribbing position, her long arms extended and her hands on my shoulders as we sat, groin to groin and, well, yes, the only word is humped. We fucked each other, pressing and rubbing. My orgasm was fast, faster than I had ever experienced before. I know, but I don’t know how I know, that I screamed as it rose, like lava in a volcano, from between my legs to my throat. I felt as if I had levitated. She held me in place, still pressing into me and I knew, when I regained my senses properly that she had not climaxed but wanted desperately to. I kept rubbing against her but let my hand go down and caress her clit. She nodded and encouraged me and I stroked it harder and she nodded again. Maintaining that pressure and pushing myself against her she erupted much as I had but in a different way. She arched her back, her head fell back and her hair seemed to flow like black silk. Her mouth opened but no sound came, just a sort of spectral scream, intangible but real. I had to hold her arm to stop her falling. We lay side by side, arms across each other, faces close. We could barely move and didn’t want to.

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